Steadfast
by Snafu1000
Summary: In a world tumbling into chaos, some things remain unbreakable. A pre-Inquisition story in the 'Moments In Time' universe.
1. A Warden's Return

Author's note: This story will contain spoilers for events that have not yet made it into 'Moments In Time' & 'Two of A Kind', as well as events that take place in the DA novels 'Asunder' & 'Masked Empire' & the graphic novels in the 'Silent Grove' series. If that's the kind of thing that bugs you, you might want to give this a bye. More detailed notes will, as usual, be included at the end of this chapter so that those of you who don't care for such things don't have to wade through it.

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><p>"Where is she?"<p>

Her Holiness, Divine Justinia V, opted to ignore the lack of any respectful titles, and the absence of the obeisance that was the norm in those who addressed her. Truth be told, she generally found it tedious and lacking in sincerity, particularly in Val Royeaux, where piety had long since been consigned to the realm of quaintly outdated customs, given lip service by those who played The Game as simply another mask to be worn to conceal true intent. A bit of blunt forthrightness was a refreshing change...and any reprimand would have been ignored by her guest, anyway.

"She is doing the Maker's work," she replied calmly.

Dark eyes regarded her no less calmly. "Your work, you mean."

"It is one and the same." She told herself that daily, and prayed that it was true, _wanted_ it to be true, and that would have to be enough.

"Is it?" Talia Cousland looked almost amused. "Been through the Gauntlet, have you?"

She had not. Few had. The Sacred Ashes of Andraste continued to protect themselves; in the years since the Chantry had taken control of the town of Haven and turned the temple on the mountain above into the holiest site of the Andrastean faith, dozens had attempted to win their way past the spiritual obstacles to view the Urn and its precious contents. Less than a score had succeeded, with the rate of success among the elite of the Chantry embarrassingly low. Most simply emerged frustrated and humbled; a few had resorted to violence, and found that the Gauntlet met force with greater force. Their bodies were burned on a pyre in the town of Haven as a warning to those who thought to use the earthly remains of the Maker's bride to serve their own ends. Still others muttered bitterly after their failure that it was all a fraud, the Ashes false, the Gauntlet the trickery of some maleficar to ensnare the faithful.

The previous Divine, Beatrix III, had not been swayed by such mutterings, but neither had she ever attempted to pass the Gauntlet herself. Part of it was undoubtedly that her advanced age made any such excursions inadvisable, but much of it – most of it – was likely that even with the failing of her mind, she knew, as Justinia now did, that innocence was one of the earliest and bitterest prices that this sacred office exacted from those who held it.

The woman before her had passed the trials of the Gauntlet, seen and touched the Sacred Ashes, but she had never seemed to consider that to mark her as particularly holy (a trait shared by every individual who had succeeded to date). Justinia had asked her about it once, and she had simply shrugged and said that her path and the Maker's will had happened to coincide at the time.

Leliana, though...no matter how unworthy she might think herself, her faith shone like a beacon, and the companions who had passed the Gauntlet with her had all stated unequivocally that it was that faith that had ultimately won them through.

"True faith needs no such proof," she replied simply.

"Be a bit awkward if you tried and failed, too, wouldn't it?" Talia replied with a snort, then shook her head, her eyes growing distant. "Don't feel bad; I doubt that I'd make it through again. My motivations have grown entirely too selfish."

Justinia did not have to ask what those motivations were. While barely out of childhood, the young noble had done more than most managed in a lifetime: killing an Archdemon, ending a Blight and putting down a subsequent uprising of darkspawn in Ferelden. In the years since, she had sought no acclaim, accepted no titles; though she was known as The Warden throughout Thedas, nearly a decade had passed since she had stepped down as Commander of the Grey in Ferelden and walked away from the Grey Wardens, a choice that none could gainsay her after what she had accomplished. As the sister of the King of Ferelden, she had acted as his envoy on occasion, but she bore no trappings of office.

The brash and tempestuous girl that Leliana had first encountered in Lothering had grown into a tall, strong woman: a seasoned warrior known throughout the southern kingdoms whose skills had likewise grown. The legendary starmetal blade remained at her hip, but her shield had been replaced by an axe with a wickedly hooked blade for her off-hand that could either entangle an opponent's weapon or cleave through flesh and bone. Heavy plate armor had given way to dragonhide leather: strong but lightweight and flexible, able to move in near silence and dyed in a mottled pattern of greys designed to blend with the shadows. She had learned the arts of stealth and subtlety, adding the element of surprise to her formidable martial ability.

She had not done it for the Maker, or for Ferelden. She had learned what she needed to learn to allow her to stay at the side of the woman that she loved: the woman that she sought now. For many years after she left the Wardens, the pair had been inseparable, and when Leliana had become the Left Hand of the Divine, the shadow behind the Sunburst Throne, Talia had become _her_ shadow, and if she served the Maker only by proxy, it had not made her blade any less useful to Justinia. Recent events, however, had parted them once more.

"Leliana's duty lies with the Chantry," Justinia told her now. "She has felt your absence keenly." She meant it as a kindness, but the dark eyes hardened.

"I've been putting out fires," the Warden growled, tipping her head toward the window. The movement caused the thin braid at her left temple to sway, the crimson bone bead at the tip glinting in the lamplight, a proud reminder to all that she was also known as _Vachini_, the She-Wolf of the Otter Clan, battle-sister to the Chasind Wilders. "_Your _fires, among others."

"Fires started by one of your Wardens," Justinia reminded her without rancor. Talia had largely grown out of her youthful temper, but she was still one for action, rather than talk. She and Cassandra were more alike than either of them cared to admit.

"Anders deserted the Grey Wardens," Talia replied irritably, "after I refused to accept every runaway mage who came to Amaranthine. He hadn't lost his damned mind when I knew him, either." She looked away, guilt casting a shadow over her features. "Maybe if I had tried -"

"It would have come, sooner or later." While not willing to absolve the Grey Wardens of all responsibility for losing control of so puissant a mage, she was a realist. "The repression and abuse of the mages had become too widely entrenched. Such tyranny was never the Maker's plan, and it all but guaranteed that rebellion would arise."

Talia looked back at her with features caught between curiosity and irritation. "If that is how you feel, why don't you do something about it?"

If only it were that simple! "When you were Warden-Commander, why did you not accept every mage who wished to join you? It was within your authority, and they would have made powerful allies."

"And set us squarely against the Chantry," she replied, shaking her head, her expression becoming slightly sheepish. "Same thing for you?"

"Indeed," Justinia replied ruefully. The Chantry had long ago become an institution that was comprised almost as much of politics as religion; the Divines that forgot this generally had very short tenures. "That I can do nothing openly does not mean that I am doing nothing, however." It was not an admission she would make to many, and as she expected, her guest interpreted her words correctly.

"Leliana." The Warden's features hardened again. "Where is she?"

"Where you cannot follow," the Divine told her, adding as her face grew thunderous, "She is due to return soon, however."

"Unless you get her killed on the Maker's business," Talia shot back, glaring at her. "She helped end a Blight, found Andraste's ashes! How much more do you want her to do?"

"That choice is hers," Justinia replied. "She was free to refuse my offer, and she is free to leave my service. She has chosen not to." There was a secret between the lovers; she did not know what it was, but she knew that it lay at the heart of Leliana's acceptance of her role as Left Hand of the Divine. A guilty shadow again passed over the Warden's face, and she turned away, moving to the window and looking out on the city.

"You use her the way that Marjolaine did," she muttered. "What makes you any different?"

"Intentions, I hope," the Divine said. It was a question that she asked herself nearly every day, and that answer was the only one that allowed her what sleep she managed at night.

The Warden snorted softly. "Loghain Mac Tir started out with good intentions."

Another might have taken offense at that, but Justinia V had once been known as Revered Mother Dorothea, and before that...well, suffice it to say that she knew all too well that good intentions could be broken beneath the weight of mortal frailty. She had no illusions of infallibility; she had made mistakes, and lives had been lost as a result, but to do nothing could very well be just as bad or worse. Staying her hand in regards to Kirkwall, allowing Elthina to do nothing but pray for peace, had led to a bloodbath. A single life could be permitted to count for little in the balance against scores, hundreds, or perhaps thousands of lives that could be lost if she made the wrong choices now. Or even worse, perhaps regardless of the choices she made.

"She is very nearly as dear to me as she is to you," she said softly, stepping closer to the younger woman and placing a hand on her shoulder, "and she will be overjoyed to find you returned."

"I didn't want to go," the Warden murmured, the weary sorrow on her face making her look older than a woman who had not yet seen thirty years, "or be gone so long."

"Duty is a harsh taskmaster," Justinia observed, not without sympathy. It had not been on a whim that the Warden had left her lover, though only rumors had made it back to Val Royeaux in the past months as Leliana had discovered – to her mixed pleasure and frustration – that her Warden had learned much from her on how to avoid notice. "The Champion of Kirkwall is well, I hope?"

Dark eyes cut toward her warily. "She is," she replied simply.

The Divine nodded. Those rumors had been true, then. "There is no need for her to hide from the Chantry," she told the other woman. "We only wish to hear her account of events in Kirkwall."

"That may be all that the Chantry wishes," the Warden countered with a shrug, "but the Chantry no longer controls the templars; they're out for blood, and her sister was one of the mages in the Kirkwall circle."

"Grand Cleric Elthina and countless others died in that explosion," Justinia reminded her.

"Anders acted alone," Talia replied sharply. "He wasn't even part of the circle; Devon Hawke executed him and kept the situation from escalating even further."

"We have been unable to form a clear account of what transpired," the Divine admitted ruefully. "The reports from witnesses have been...chaotic, at best."

"If the reports say that Kirkwall's First Enchanter was a blood mage who became an abomination and the Knight Commander was driven insane by some kind of corrupted lyrium, made the statues in the Gallows come to life, then was turned into a statue of lyrium herself, then they square pretty well with what I was told." Talia glanced at her, scowling in disapproval as she nodded her reluctant acknowledgment. "That city was a disaster waiting to happen even without Anders, and all you could do was tell the Grand Cleric to leave?"

Justinia sighed heavily. "I intended an Exalted March; I allowed Elthina to convince me to stay my hand and give her the opportunity to bring things under control."

The Warden shifted to face her, leaning against the window frame and crossing her arms. "That worked out well, don't you think?"

"If you think I don't regret that choice every day, you are wrong," Justinia replied. "If I had known then even a fraction of what I knew now -"

"Was it really so hard to see that people who think they have nothing left to lose will fight?" Talia asked her. "The mages in Kirkwall had been pushed to their limits by the templars, and all the Grand Cleric could do was pray for peace."

"Is that why the Champion sided with the mages?" Justinia wanted to know.

"Is that what your witnesses told you?" Talia asked, then shook her head. "Devon Hawke sided with her sister; nothing more, nothing less. She killed Anders because his lunacy made Bethany a target for templar vengeance, along with every other mage alive. You great leaders in your ivory towers are the ones who are fixated on your grand ideals. Those of us on the ground fight for the ones that we love."

"And yet, you left the one that you love." It was a low blow, and for a moment, the Divine thought that it might have been the wrong tactic. Talia's eyes blazed with anger, but the flames subsided quickly.

"I pay my debts," she declared tersely. "Isabela asked for my help in getting Hawke and her companions to a place of safety. I wasn't about to force Leliana to choose between you and me, so I went alone."

"She understood that," Justinia told her gently, trying to soothe the wound she had inflicted. "She has been worried about you, though. Your elusiveness surprised her."

A faint smile touched the Warden's lips. "She taught me well."

"That she did," the Divine agreed. "So...you escorted the Champion and her comrades out of Kirkwall and helped them resettle elsewhere." She cocked her head, sorting through the rumors that had reached her ears. "Seheron, perhaps?"

Genuine amusement lit Talia's face, briefly driving back the weight of care and the years it had added to her features. "Is that where you have Cassandra looking?" she asked with a chuckle. "Maker, she's going to be surly when she gets back. No, that's not where they are. I honestly don't know where they're at." She shrugged. "I won't lie to Leliana, and Bela knows that. I left them in Llomerryn, but I can promise you that they're nowhere near there by now. Seheron was..." She glanced away, grim sorrow touching her features, "another matter entirely."

Disquiet rippled through Justinia's breast. "Are the Qunari preparing to invade, then?" With the current chaos, the nations of the south would be easy pickings for the horned giants.

Talia shook her head. "Not yet," she replied.

Not the most reassuring of answers. "But soon?" the Divine persisted.

The Warden's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Define 'soon'. The Qunari don't think the way we do. Their leaders aren't driven by personal glory and ambition, but by the demands of the Qun. When the Qun demands it, they _will_ come, but that might be a hundred years from now. Maybe more."

"Or it might be tomorrow," Justinia guessed.

"Possible," Talia conceded, "but unlikely. They're still fighting the Tevinters for control of the northern lands; they are not going to abandon that fight, or weaken themselves by opening another front in the south. The attack on Kirkwall was a product of circumstance, not a declaration of war. As long as you don't intend another Exalted March on them, they should stay out of our business."

"Thank the Maker for small mercies," she murmured. Now she only had to worry about the mage rebellion, the renegade templars, the elven uprising and the possibility of Orlais flaring into civil war.

Talia regarded her with knowing eyes. "Not that we don't already have enough trouble, yes?"

She arched an eyebrow. "We?"

One shoulder lifted, lowered. "I haven't always agreed with your methods, but at least you are trying to do something. Leliana is loyal to you, and I go where she goes." A pointed look. "At least, I will when you tell me where she is."

"As I told you, I cannot," Justinia replied. "Her task is not particularly dangerous, but it would be noticed, were you to attempt to join her, and _that_ could be dangerous. You are far from unknown, my dear, and your ties to Ferelden could send the wrong message at a delicate time."

"Empress Celene," Talia guessed. Correctly, though Justinia would neither confirm nor deny it. "The world teeters on the brink, and Grand Duke Gaspard proposes to address it by declaring war on Ferelden." She shook her head, her disgust plain. "I'd say to let him come, but we really don't have time to waste on such idiocy. The Empress should have relieved him of his head long ago; it's not as though he's actually using it."

"You are well informed, for someone so recently returned," the Divine observed.

Talia shrugged. "As you say, I've been well taught," she replied simply. "Not that Gaspard's ambitions seem to be any real secret. Word has it that he all but slapped the Empress in the face with a play that he commissioned at the Grande Royeaux, and that she has taken forces to Halamshiral to crush the elven uprising there to counter his accusation that she is too lenient with the elves, who had the nerve to object to the murder of one of their own by an Orlesian noble."

"The timing has been...unfortunate," Justinia sighed, well aware of the inadequacy of such a statement. "The Empress has been making slow progress toward improving the lot of the elves, but with Gaspard already stirring up nobles who might otherwise have accepted her decrees, she cannot be seen to treat elves who rebel against her rule any differently that she would any other traitors to the Empire."

"I know," Talia said, her pensive expression giving way to a wry smile at the Divine's look of surprise. "My brother has encountered similar problems. Centuries of prejudices and beliefs can't be reversed overnight. It's always going to be too fast for some, too slow for others...and he doesn't have a rabblerouser like Gaspard nipping at his heels."

"The Grand Duke is more than a nuisance, unfortunately," Justinia replied, though she would have paid good coin to see Gaspard's reaction to being dubbed a rabblerouser by one of his hated Fereldan 'dog lords'. "The elves are not the only ones who will suffer, should he manage to take the throne."

"You support Celene, then?" Talia asked her.

"I will support whoever rules Orlais," Justinia said, not without regret, "though I hope it will be Celene. I do not have the luxury of involving the Chantry in secular politics when our own house is in danger of falling down. With the templars in such disarray, our military capability is greatly reduced." She paused, then added, "You could be of great use as a commander, if you would accept a commission." In such times, people needed more than ideals to follow; they needed heroes, and the woman before her had proven herself a charismatic leader with a good grasp of tactics and strategy, but Justinia was not overly surprised to see her shaking her head before the offer was fully made.

"I'm neither Templar nor Seeker," Talia replied, "and no wish to become either. Besides," she added with a faint smile, "do you really want to be officially responsible for what I do?"

"You do have a point," Justinia conceded wryly. The Hero of Ferelden had a strong sense of right and wrong, but little patience for politics; when she decided to involve herself in a matter, things tended to get done and people tended to get upset. Placing her officially under the Chantry's banner was unlikely to change her; few besides Leliana had any power to sway her. Far easier to leave her free to act and the Chantry free to disavow all knowledge of her actions and commiserate with the offended nobles about the barbaric Fereldan in their midst.

I do know of someone who might suit your purposes, though," Talia went on after a moment's thought. "His name is Ser Cullen Rutherford."

"The Knight-Captain of Kirkwall?" Justinia asked in surprise. "Rumor has it that he fathered a child with a mage and fled with her when the circle fell."

"Married her, too," she confirmed, watching the Divine closely. "Is that a problem?"

Talia knew Chantry custom well enough to know what the official stance would be; that was not what she was asking. Times were changing; some of those changes should be resisted, but not all. Justinia cocked her head, considering. "He survived the rebellion in the Fereldan circle, did he not?"

The Warden nodded. "He's seen what happen when mages abuse their power and lose control, but he's seen the other side, as well. Devon said that he rallied the Kirkwall templars against Meredith when she went mad. He wants a world where his daughter can grow up without fear, whether she is a mage or not."

It was a worthy goal, likely shared by any number of fathers across Thedas. Balance would be needed to reestablish order: templars willing to see mages as something more than abominations-in-waiting, mages willing to see that templar abilities were a necessary safeguard to their magic, lest it overcome them. It lay with her to find that balance; she could not do it alone. "I will give the matter thought," she replied.

Talia accepted this with a nod. "When will Leli be back?" she asked quietly.

"In two days' time," Justinia responded. "Empress Celene has decreed a ball to be held in my honor at the Imperial Palace." A ball at which the Empress would not be in attendance; she would deal with the elven uprising, while the Divine would take a public stance on the mage-templar war. It pained Justinia that the elves had to be dealt with so severely, but there was more than enough chaos already churning in the world. "Leliana will attend me there."

One dark eyebrow arched. "A masked ball?" the Warden asked with the resigned air of one who already knew the answer.

"But of course," Justinia said with a faint smile. It was an aspect of Orlesian culture that annoyed the Fereldan to no end, though the Divine could understand her disdain. "But if you will indulge an old woman, I believe that we can arrange a surprise for her that will keep your presence there both unknown and brief." There seemed no end in sight to their current problems, but she could – and would – arrange a respite for these two who had already given so much for Thedas.

"You're not that old," Talia scoffed, but Justinia could see the interest kindled in her eyes, the desire to see her lover as quickly as possible warring with the appeal of surprising her.

"Compared to my predecessor, perhaps," the Divine replied with a rueful sigh, "but some days I feel ancient." The notion of another fifty years at this pressed down on her like a load of stone; if the Maker was merciful, He would take her before she was reduced to the doddering wreck that Beatrix had become. _Just not before I have managed to make all this right, please,_ she prayed silently, her expectant gaze resting on the Warden, awaiting the answer that she knew was forthcoming.

"All right," Talia agreed at last, adding quickly, "but I get to pick my mask."

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><p>A<em>uthor's Notes – Yes, I'm still alive. No high dramas, no more meltdowns. Just an incredibly busy life (but a good kind of busy, so I won't complain) combined with the mother of all writer's blocks that brought everything to a screeching halt.<em>

_Talia & Leli never really left my imagination, however, and DA:I got the muse moving again. This story will be a bridge of sorts, filling in the gaps between DA2 & Inquisition, mostly from a retrospective and abridged standpoint. I am back to working on Moments In Time, trying to get the 'Save Anora/Kill Howe' chapter hammered out. As I said at the beginning, there will be spoilers from that story & Two Of A Kind (kinda obvious, that), but I'm planning to save the details for the respective stories. Most of this story will focus on events that happened in the book 'DA: Asunder', with Talia added to the action. I'm hoping to get to an Inquisition story eventually, but we'll see. This isn't intended to be a long story, a few chapters, but muses sometimes get other ideas. There will likely be updates to 'A Dog's Life' and 'Stolen Moments', as well...just slowly. The busy life hasn't gotten much less busy, but I am starting to rebuild an actual schedule, which helps with writing._

_(And as an aside, if you have not read the DA books, I'd recommend it. 'The Stolen Throne' & 'The Calling' were pretty lackluster IMO, but 'Asunder' and 'Masked Empire' were both good and deal with events and characters that figure prominently in Inquisition, adding new layers of depth when you play the game. 'Last Flight' was, I think, the best book of the lot, and I'm really hoping that they have incorporated that, as well.)_

_I'm working my way through Inquisition, and while overall I think they're doing a great job of bringing together the elements from games, books, graphic novels & all, some of the assumptions they had to make definitely didn't fit my vision of what my Warden and Champion would have done post game._

_I started this before I started Inquisition, so the mention of Haven was a happy coincidence. The Wiki states that the Sacred Ashes had vanished when the Chantry arrived, but to me, if that had been the case, I don't think the Chantry would have turned the site into the holy shrine that it did. They would have been much more likely to simply ignore it. Besides, I kinda liked the idea of the Gauntlet remaining active, humbling the high muckety-mucks of the Chantry who tried to reach the Ashes._

_I'm not really gluing myself to BioWare's canon timeline, either, since it doesn't make sense to me that three years would elapse before the Chantry went looking for Hawke after the cluster in Kirkwall. The scene in this chapter takes place about 8 years after the events in Awakening and a year after Anders blows up the Kirkwall Chantry. Talia is about 27 years old, Leliana is 35. _

_This chapter felt a bit uneven to write; I'm still trying to get a feel for who Talia has become and get past events laid out in my mind. Hopefully things will smooth out as I get back into the groove.  
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	2. Farewells

_A.N.: Many thanks to those of you who have read & reviewed, faved and followed, with special shout-outs to: Superstar Kid, Drummerchick7, Crosswood, Kore Anesidora, Kalen Caelli, ChocolateTruffles, Ani and TheWickedTruth89!_

_And now it's flashback time! The first part takes place after Chapter 1 of 'Moments In Time', while the second is set a few weeks after the destruction of the Kirkwall chantry and the ensuing rebellion there.  
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><p><em><strong>Lothering, 30 Dragon<strong>_

"I have to go."

"But why?" Bethany Hawke clung to Leliana's hand, looking distressed. "It's the Grey Wardens' job to fight the darkspawn, not yours!"

"Only two Grey Wardens remain," Leliana told the girl. "They will need allies to assist them until the Wardens from other nations arrive." Loghain Mac Tir might block the Orlesian Wardens, but surely he would accept the assistance of Weisshaupt? "They need all the help they can get."

"From a lay-sister of the Chantry," Devon Hawke spoke up, tipping her chair back and propping her feet on the edge of the kitchen table. "That'll make those darkspawn think twice." The blue-green eyes were sardonic, but probing, as well. The eldest of the Hawke siblings had never quite seemed to accept Leliana's vague explanations of her past.

"Carver says that the Grey Wardens betrayed King Cailan," Bethany said anxiously.

"Carver's full of shit," Devon snorted disdainfully. "Most of the Grey Wardens were on the front line with the King and died with him when Loghain tucked tail and ran."

"Teyrn Loghain," Leandra Hawke corrected her eldest calmly, lifting her feet from the table and dropping them to the floor, swiping the dirt away with a rag. "He likely had his reasons."

"About ten-thousand of them," Devon agreed with a scowl. Her usual insouciant demeanor had acquired a darker edge since she and Carver had returned from the rout at Ostagar, two of far too few survivors. "All that was missing was the sodding archdemon."

"If there was no archdemon, maybe it's not a Blight after all," Bethany said hopefully, but her sister shook her head.

"With that many, they don't _need_ an archdemon, Beth. They've taken Ostagar, and there's nothing between there and Lothering but a shitload of swamp that even the fucking Wilders are abandoning."

"Language, Devon," Leandra said. Outwardly, the Hawke matriarch was as serene as ever, but her hazel eyes were grave, with the faintest lines of tension at the corners of her mouth. Devon, who generally lost no opportunity to tweak the nose of any available authority figure, simply nodded in meek acceptance of her mother's rebuke

"You have to leave," Leliana told Leandra earnestly. Devon was correct in her assessment. Archdemon or not, Lothering was in the path of the darkspawn horde. "The Chantry is evacuating as many as can travel now."

"And the bandits are waiting with open arms," Devon growled. Leliana knew – or suspected, anyway, that the young woman had engaged in her own illicit activities to put food on her family's table since Malcolm Hawke's death two years earlier, but smuggling and a bit of petty larceny was a far cry from the rapine and murder being carried out by the two-legged predators that had taken up residence on the outskirts of Lothering.

"The Wardens have agreed to clear out the bandits," Leliana replied. "I will assist them in that, as well."

"By praying?" Devon wanted to know, cocking her head and eying the Orlesian challengingly. "Or singing?" She had never pushed for answers before, seemingly content to amuse herself with whatever her lively imagination came up with.

"I know the use of bow and blade," Leliana replied calmly, "but faith and encouragement have their places, as well. My praying and singing will not be totally useless, I think." _I hope._ Neither of the two Grey Wardens seemed particularly devout, and their companion displayed an open disdain for the Chant of Light and its followers, especially the templars.

"Of course not," Leandra said, with a warm smile for Leliana and a gently reproving look for Devon, "but it will still be dangerous for you."

"You could come with us," Bethany piped up suddenly, giving her mother a beseeching look. "Couldn't she?"

"You would be welcome," her mother assured Leliana.

"We're going to Kirkwall!" Bethany exclaimed before Leliana could reply, her face alight with enthusiasm. "In the Free Marches! Mother's brother is a _noble_ there!"

"Her younger brother," Devon clarified, giving Leandra a pointed glance.

"My parents did not approve of my marriage to Malcolm," her mother explained to Leliana. "Gamlen inherited the estate after they died. I've no intention of going against their wishes; I've no regrets on that score." Her tender expression as she looked at her two daughters made Leliana's chest clench with a bittersweet ache. Malcolm had died before she had arrived in Lothering, but his presence in the Hawke household – and the love between he and Leandra – had always been evident in the way his widow and children spoke of him. It had always seemed unfair that he should have died so young, but then, when had life been fair?

Blasphemy, she chided herself. The Maker's will was not hers to know, the pattern of His weavings not hers to see. All that she could do was go where she felt herself led, and that was not Kirkwall.

"I sent him a letter," Leandra went on. "I'd hoped to receive a reply, but I don't think we can wait any longer here. We'll travel to Gwaren and take a ship from there. As I said, you are welcome to come with us. I am certain that the Chantry in Kirkwall would welcome your presence."

"That is kind of you," Leliana replied with a smile. The Hawke family had been one of the few who had made her feel truly welcome in Lothering. She would miss them, but her heart would rest easier knowing that they had a place of safety to flee to. "But this is something that I must do. It is the Maker's will for me." She did not speak of her vision; she'd endured enough ridicule on that matter for one day, and Devon would be even more derisive than the Wardens had.

"Then bless all of you, for shouldering such a burden," Leandra told her. "Would you like to stay for dinner? Your new companions are welcome as well, if they would like. There's not much, but it's likely better than what Danal is serving at Dane's Refuge."

That was undoubtedly true, but Leliana shook her head. "They were cooking their own dinner when I left them," she said. "They plan to rise early and go in search of the bandits, so I'd best get some rest of my own." She did not mention the bounty that Teyrn Loghain had placed upon their heads, or that any who aided them would risk punishment. Add to that the strong suspicion that the beautiful but arrogant woman who accompanied the Wardens was an apostate, and it seemed wise to keep her new companions away from this family who had already lost much. "Walk me out?" she invited Bethany, who accepted with a smile tinged at the edges with sorrow. Devon got to her feet, as well, waiting as Leliana made her farewell to Leandra, then sauntering out with her sister and their guest.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" Bethany pleaded with her softly.

"Of course I will," Leliana assured her with a smile. "Fighting darkspawn is what Grey Wardens do best. I cannot think of a safer place to be in a Blight."

"You're not thinking, then," Devon informed her grimly. "The Grey Wardens at Ostagar were slaughtered. Two more aren't likely to have any better luck."

"They will do what Grey Wardens have always done: gather allies against the Blight," Leliana replied, knowing that the younger woman was right. "They have ancient treaties from the mages' circle, the Dalish elves and the dwarves of Orzammar, and Grey Wardens from other nations will come soon. This Blight is just begun." The fourth Blight had lasted over a decade and decimated the lands of Antiva, the Free Marches and the Anderfels; Maker willing, this one could be stopped sooner.

"I'll miss you," Bethany said wistfully.

"I will miss you, too," Leliana told her. The girl had such a sweet temperament and devotion to the Maker; Leliana had tried more than once to nudge her in the direction of the Chantry, but the notion had seemed to make Bethany nervous for some reason, and she had eventually stopped her efforts and simply enjoyed her company. "Perhaps when the Blight is over, I can visit you in your mansion in Kirkwall, yes?"

"That would be wonderful," Bethany replied. "Would you...would you sing us a song, please?" She glanced to Devon, who added her nod to the request, more to please her sister than any real interest in music, Leliana knew.

"Gladly," Leliana said warmly. Even after turning away from her life as a bard, she had been unable to quell her love of performing for an appreciative audience, seeing the care slip from weary faces for a time as song or story drew them into its thrall. Perhaps it was vanity, but it brought others pleasure, so it could not be such a bad thing, could it? At any rate, she suspected that her new companions, with the possible exception of Alistair, would have little interest in her songs and stories. Their leader, the one named Talia, had barely given the lute she had unpacked in the camp a second glance, her focus centered upon examining her armor for needed repairs, and Morrigan had made a snide comment about hoping they would not be forced to listen to any caterwauling. Then Alistair had reprimanded her, Morrigan had taken offense, and only Talia's raised voice had headed off the argument, her impatient glower plainly communicating that she was already beginning to regret agreeing to allow Leliana to join them.

She paused to search her memory for an appropriate tune, then began to sing:

"_Shadows fall and Hope has fled  
>Steel your heart,<br>The Dawn will come._

_The Night is long and the Path is dark_  
><em>Look to the sky, for one day soon<em>  
><em>The Dawn will Come."<em>

Bethany listened raptly as she poured every bit of hope she could summon into each word. The dawn would come, the Blight would be defeated, and this dear family would find the peace and prosperity that they so richly deserved. As the last notes faded, Bethany threw her arms around her.

"Thank you," she whispered, hazel eyes brimming with tears.

"Don't cry, dear one," Leliana told her, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, giving Devon a skeptical glance when she stepped in, head turned to invite a kiss to her cheek. Sure enough, when Leliana complied, the incorrigible scamp turned her head so that their lips met, the teasing flicker of her tongue there and gone before Leliana could draw back.

"Devon!" Bethany exclaimed, scandalized, but her sister just grinned.

"Last kiss for the dying, Beths," she offered with a wink, receiving a slap to the shoulder from Bethany in response.

"No one is going to die, Devon," Leliana scolded her, shaking her head in amused exasperation. The eldest Hawke sibling was a shameless flirt, with a cocky assurance that made her popular with the young people around Lothering, male and female alike. Leliana had resisted her charms with no great effort; it had long since become an amiable game of sorts between them, and she was willing to give Devon this little victory, because she could see the weight of worry that the girl tried to hide from her mother and siblings with her antics. "Take care of them," she told her gently.

"Count on it," Devon replied, saucy smile still in place, resolve steeling her eyes as she reached for her sister's hand. "C'mon, Beth. Let's go see if Carver and Falcon need help getting the goats in."

Leliana watched them go, offering up a silent prayer for their safety, then turned to follow her own path.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Val Royeaux, 37 Dragon<strong>_

"I have to go."

"I know."

Leliana had known as soon as she had seen Zevran. Known even before that, truth be told, when the first incredulous reports of the destruction of the Kirkwall chantry and the supposed involvement of Devon Hawke in the rebellion there had reached the Grand Cathedral. She had been relieved when Zevran had confirmed that Devon and Bethany had survived the carnage, but she had known that a longstanding debt was now being called in.

"_You still owe me, hero." Isabela regarded Talia, her smirk very much as it had been years ago in Denerim, but her amber eyes touched with something that had not been there then. _

"_I know," Talia replied, glancing from the pirate to Devon Hawke, a faint smile of understanding on her lips. "I pay my debts."_

Leliana had hoped then that they would leave Kirkwall, just as Divine Justinia had warned Grand Cleric Elthina to do, but Bethany had still been in the Gallows, a prisoner of the circle there. Devon would never have left her sister, and Isabela would not leave Devon. And Elthina? Leliana did not know what had motivated her. Arrogance? Denial? Or a genuine belief that she could stave off the eruption that seemed imminent?

Did it matter any longer? Elthina had remained in Kirkwall, Justinia had stayed her hand, and now the rebellion that had ignited there threatened to blaze out of control and spread. Cassandra had already been dispatched to Kirkwall to assess the situation, and in the midst of conflicting reports, predictions of doom and demands for vengeance, the former Antivan Crow had slipped into Val Royeaux as unobtrusively as the stray cats that haunted the alleys that crisscrossed the Orlesian capital, his jaunty bearing intact but his sea-green eyes touched with a rare gravity. He knew well what the message he bore would mean to Talia...and to Leliana.

There had been only the briefest conversation between the three of them, and when he had drawn Talia away, Leliana did not try to follow, nor ask questions when she returned without him. Only now, alone within their apartment within the Grand Cathedral, the moon's light the only illumination and nothing between them, did they speak what they both knew.

"Anders did it." Talia's voice was soft, her features taut with anger, bafflement...guilt. "He's the one who destroyed the Chantry."

Leliana drew a slow breath, released it. "Zevran was sure?" It was one of the rumors that had made it to Orlais, but there were at least half a dozen others, including the appearance of another archdemon.

"He's sure," Talia nodded. Her hand drifted over Leliana's hip, along her thigh, fingers curling beneath and drawing it upward. The bard obligingly twined her leg around her lover's as Talia wrapped strong arms around her, drawing them closer together, offering and accepting the comfort that they both needed. It was this, more than anything, that Leliana treasured. The easy closeness between them: the way that Talia's hand would find hers, fingers intertwining without thought as they walked down the street or sat side by side in the Grande Royeaux; the way that her Warden would kiss her gently, regardless of who looked on; the way that she reached out for Leliana instinctively in her nightmares, frequently calming without even waking when the bard held her; the way that she was there when Leliana's own doubts and fears turned her dreams dark, gentle kisses and soothing words pushing back the shadows. It was what she treasured, and what she knew that she would be missing all too soon.

"He's dead," Talia went on. "Hawke killed him afterward." She gave a hiss of frustration, dropping her head to Leliana's shoulder. "I should have made him go back when I found him there. I should have -"

"Hshh." Leliana placed a gentle finger on her lover's lips. "Anders chose his own path." She had not known the mage well. She knew that he had escaped from the Fereldan circle during Uldred's uprising and found his way into the rebellion in the Bannorn, becoming an ally and confidante to Talia's brother, Fergus. After the Blight, Talia had conscripted him as a favor to Fergus, resolving a potentially thorny problem between the new King of Ferelden and the Chantry. Anders had gone to the Joining willingly, and had fought beside Talia in the darkspawn uprising that had nearly destroyed Amaranthine and Vigil's Keep, only to leave afterward, when neither Talia nor Fergus had taken a stance on mages bold enough to suit him (which would have required advocating immediate and unconditional freedom for all mages in Ferelden and accepting any mage that wished to join the Grey Wardens, regardless of their control or disposition).

It was not a time that Leliana liked to recall. While Talia and a handful of newly-Joined Grey Wardens had been caught between opposing factions of darkspawn, she had been far away with Alistair, in search of Morrigan and her child, trying to right the sin that she had committed in the name of love and miserably certain that in saving her Warden, she had lost her for good.

It had not been the first time that secrets had nearly torn their love asunder, but it had been the last. With the Architect and the Mother both dead, the darkspawn threat ended, Talia had turned the position of Warden-Commander over to Alistair and left the Grey Wardens, following Leliana to Orlais. It was why she had not tried to force Anders to return when they had found him living in Kirkwall; she had felt that she had no authority or right to deny any other the choice she had made.

"Alistair agreed with you," she reminded Talia gently now, framing her lover's face in her hands. With the darkspawn threat ended, it had seemed of little use to force an unwilling member to remain, even when they had only Morrigan's word that the child that Alistair had fathered: a child carrying the soul of Urthemiel, would not be the cause of a new Blight, or something even worse. "Neither of you could have foreseen this." The man they had encountered in Kirkwall had been embittered and angry, railing against the injustices suffered by mages, but there had been no hint that he could have been capable of an act as violent and massive as what had been described.

Dark eyes shadowed with remorse and resolve met hers. "That doesn't change what has been done," Talia whispered. "The templars are blaming all the mages, the mages can either let themselves be slaughtered or fight." She shook her head, her lips pressed into a grim line. "I can't blame them for fighting; not all of them are like Anders or Uldred...but not all of them are like Wynne, either. I have to go. I have to find out what happened, what's happening now. Isabela got Hawke and her sister out of Kirkwall on her ship with a few others."

"And she wants you to help her protect them," Leliana finished for her, already feeling the ache of loss; seven years ago, the Rivaini Pirate had helped them kill Marjolane, helped Talia protect Leliana. It was a debt that her Warden would not ignore.

"Yes," Talia replied simply, catching her hands and drawing them down, kissing them one by one before capturing her bard's lips, the kiss lingering, tender. "I will come back to you," she vowed when they drew apart.

"I know," Leliana replied. And she did. The time when she was uncertain of Talia's love and devotion was long past, and the years since they had come to Orlais had been the happiest of her life. There had been partings, times when duty drew them in different directions, but they had always been brief: a few weeks, at most, before they would reunite. This would be different, she knew, but though she had no doubt that her Warden would try to return to her, in her heart lurked the fear that the price for the years of happiness that she had stolen was finally coming due. "I am afraid," she confessed, pressing her face into Talia's shoulder, holding her tight.

"So am I," Talia said softly. The knowledge of the Dark Ritual, of the existence of a child with an Old God's soul, was something that neither of them ever forgot, even though they did not speak of it. Atonement for that sin was what had led Leliana to accept Divine Justinia's request to serve as her Left Hand; Talia knew this, and had never pressed her to walk away, nor would she now. Leliana would remain and serve, while Talia would leave and seek...and only time would tell if the Maker's mercy would bring them together again.

"When will you leave?" Leliana asked. She did not ask where Isabela's ship was, where they might be bound. Rumors overwhelmingly claimed that Devon Hawke had sided with the mages, killed the Knight-Commander of the Templars. It made little sense; apart from her sister, Devon had showed little interest in the plight of the mages. Perhaps she was protecting Bethany, or perhaps the reports had been in error, but one of Cassandra's chief goals had been to find the Champion of Kirkwall and obtain her account of events. The Right Hand of the Divine was not known for her patience or her gentleness. There would be harsh words when she discovered that Talia had absconded with her target, but Talia did not answer to the Chantry, and Leliana could not reveal what she did not know. An odd balance, and one that would have been impossible without the trust that Divine Justinia placed in her Left Hand. Leliana prayed that trust would not prove misplaced, that Devon Hawke had not assisted Anders in destroying the Chantry, murdering innocents. She did not believe it was so, but many things that she had once not believed had come to pass.

"Not yet," Talia replied, turning her head, lips brushing along the line of Leliana's jaw, breath warm against her cheek as her hands moved over the bard's skin with tender deliberation. "Not just yet."

Much later, after they had exhausted their passion and fallen asleep in each other's arms, Leliana was awakened in the predawn darkness by her lover, fully dressed and armored. Talia had left her once while she slept: once, and never again.

"I will wait for you," she promised after a lingering kiss.

"And I will come back to you," her Warden replied, dark eyes drinking her in as though storing up the sight of her against the long separation. One last kiss, and she was gone, and Leliana lay back on the bed, staring out the window at the stars of Alindra and her soldier and wondering how she had ever thought their tale a hopeful one.

* * *

><p><em>I almost put this in 'Stolen Moments', but I decided that would be scattergunning things too much, and it really does fit in with the storyline here. Again, things feel a bit stilted as I try to organize happenings that have been laid out in my head-canon for quite some time and align them in a semi-coherent manner with BioWare's storyline leading into Inquisition.<em>

_I'd mentioned doing a Stolen Moments chapter with Leli saying goodbye to the Hawkes in Lothering, and this turned out to be it. The farewell between Talia and Leli was a bit more complex to construct, but I blame BioWare for suggesting at the end of DA2 that Hawke and the Warden were off somewhere together. Talia would definitely respond to Bela asking for help getting her people to a safe location, but there would be the added motivation of wanting to know just WTF Anders did and whether/how Hawke was involved._

_You should be starting to get a rough idea of how 'Moments In Time' concludes. I'm still working on the Rescue Anora/Kill Howe chapter for that one, and an inspiration for a Wynne chapter in 'A Dog's Life' has finally arisen. If you honestly don't want to wait for details (because I'll be honest and tell you: it's going to take time. Life is still busy and DAI still claims a large chunk of my free time), PM me & I'll give you a synopsis._


	3. Masks

_A.N. - And on we go! Shout-outs this chapter to: Drummerchick7, Ani and EliteSky!_

_And because I haven't yet mentioned the obvious: Talia and anything else you don't recognize are mine. All else belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p>Masks were a part of life in the Orlesian Empire, and nowhere was this more true than in Val Royeaux. A momentary quirk of fashion generations back, meant to add an entertaining layer to the Game, had become an integral part of high society. Less able players believed that the concealment of their faces offered them an edge in the Game, and so it might...to others as lacking in skill. To everyone else – certainly any bard worthy of the name – there was as much or more information to be gleaned from posture, reactions, words spoken or unspoken by a fool who believed their secrets safe behind their mask.<p>

Despite their relative uselessness in the Game – or perhaps because of it – the use of masks had persisted, expanding beyond ornamentation at balls to become a basic item that no Orlesian above a certain station would be seen in public without. Nobles spared no expense, paying master craftsmen to create elaborate masks of gold and silver, inlaid with mother-of-pearl or precious gems, extravagantly adorned with feathers, fur and other ornamentation. These were worn at court or grand balls, intended to display wealth and influence. Less ornate masks were reserved for daily interactions, with servants of the noble houses wearing simpler masks of paste, tin or wood, painted in their liege's colors to mark them as a step above the unmasked masses and not to be trifled with.

As a bard, Leliana had worn many a mask, but she had learned contempt of the custom from Marjolaine, who had sneered at any who had to rely upon a physical barrier to conceal their emotions. From her bardmaster, Leliana had learned how to look beyond the masks and, more importantly, how to compose her own features into a mask that could not be so easily penetrated. Those had been the masks that had been the hardest to put aside, even when her life as a bard was long over. For a time, she had been able to let them go, but now...

At least now she was not required to don a crafted mask. Members of the Chantry were exempted from such social mores, but she wore another mask tonight: that of a Chantry priest attending the Most Holy at the ball that Empress Celene had decreed held in her honor. Standing beside the Sunburst Throne on the raised dais, clothed in simple robes, with no visible weapons, she had been all but invisible to the nobles as they climbed the steps in turn to offer their respects to the Divine. With that obligation seen to, the guests had been all too ready to ignore the guest of honor and turn their energies to the real reason they had come: to see and be seen, to display the fact that they had been considered worthy of an invitation and gauge the worthiness of others who had likewise been invited.

It made for quite the show, one that Leliana was free to observe from her position on the dais, her mask of placid obedience almost unneeded. Orlesian nobles hated looking up to anyone, so once the ball was well underway, very few eyes lifted above the level of the dance floor to the Divine and her attendants.

She could remember so clearly the first time she had attended such an event at Lady Cecilie's side, giddy with excitement and anticipation. How beautiful the masks and gowns had seemed, how bright the smiles, how gay the revelry to an innocent girl who had longed for nothing more than to be a part of it all!

A few short years later, her first time at a ball as Marjolaine's protegee was no less clearly remembered. She had known now that these pretty people hid secrets beneath their masks, and she had been so smugly certain that she would learn them all, so eager to please the beautiful bardmaster who had seemed so wise in the ways of the world, and had promised to teach her student all that she knew.

And now?

Now she watched a Marquis try unsuccessfully to keep his eyes from lingering upon the young lady with whom he was having an affair. His wife was far better at such things; she never looked toward the girl, whom she was also having an affair with, but she plainly noticed where her husband's attention lay and just as plainly worried that her secret had been discovered. And the young bard who was bedding them both was better at the Game than either of her lovers, chatting animatedly with a group of young nobles, never once looking at the husband, the wife or the Comte who had hired her to sow discord in a rival house. Such matters did not involve the Chantry, however, and Leliana's attention moved on.

Now she noted that one Contessa's shoes were far more expensive than her family's current fortunes should have permitted and took note of who she spoke to, danced with...and who she avoided: the Duke to whom she owed a tidy sum, of which those frivolous shoes would have claimed no small part. Debts could be paid in many ways, however, and while the Contessa was little involved in Chantry affairs, the Duke was known to be opposed to Justinia's efforts at reform. Any sudden devotion to religious duties on the part of the Contessa would be subject to scrutiny.

Now she watched the guests talking among themselves, took note of the surreptitious glances in the direction of the dais that never quite rose to the level of the throne and its occupant. Justinia's views were welcomed by few among the nobility and strongly opposed by many; those who played the Game had grown accustomed to a Divine who was nothing more than a figurehead. A Divine who had both a mind of her own and an aptitude for the Game had not been welcomed; no one had yet been bold enough to make an overt move against Justinia, but it would only be a matter of time, and her Left Hand would be ready when it happened.

She had come full circle, back to what she had once fled. She had spied, stolen, seduced, killed, for profit, for love of Marjolaine and for the sheer delight of seeing just how much she could accomplish with her targets none the wiser. Now? She performed many of the same acts as she had then, but her motivations were nobler: the safety of the Most Holy, the furtherance of an agenda intended to change the trajectory of a Chantry veered off course from its mission and calm the chaos that threatened to flare into a war that could consume the southern nations. She told herself that, and most of the time, she believed it.

The truth was, she loved the Game. Loved and hated it, sometimes both at once, but love or hate, she was _good _ at it. Good enough that it frightened her sometimes.

_"We are the same, you and I."_

Marjolaine's words, Marjolaine's voice in her memory, mocking and sure, and no matter how much Leliana wanted to deny it, she could not. Her skills were needed by Justinia, and if more and more she felt that the mask of who she had to be was becoming who she truly was, it was a price that she would pay. She owed her benefactor that much.

_"Do you see how she looks at me? That is how she will look at you, once she sees how you truly are. It is only a matter of time."_

Nearly a year had passed since her Warden had left in the darkness before dawn, a year in which Leliana had found out just how much Talia had learned in their time together. The letters that arrived at irregular intervals were circumspectly worded, rarely referring directly to people, places, events, instead employing oblique references that had meaning between the two of them in a code that would be near impossible for another to interpret clearly. In this manner, Leliana had learned that Devon, her sister and Isabela were safe, that sweet Bethany was pregnant, married to the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, the same Ser Cullen who had survived the mage uprising in the Fereldan circle. 'Our friend from two circles', Talia had dubbed him, and no other of their mutual acquaintance fit the appellation. Good to know he had evidently overcome his antipathy toward mages, and wonderful to know that Bethany would have the family that she had always yearned for, but along with the news that the refugees from Kirkwall were secure had come word that Alistair had asked for help in a matter that Talia would not divulge, even in veiled terms.

Leliana would never begrudge Alistair Talia's assistance; she would have gone herself, had she been able. It had been far too long since she had seen dear Alistair, and anything that could draw him from his duty as Warden-Commander must be serious, indeed, but with echoes of the Kirkwall rebellion resounding throughout Thedas and political tensions in Orlais climbing toward the boiling point, the Left Hand of the Divine had been needed elsewhere. Only two letters had come since then, frustratingly void of any detail save her continued well being and her love. Leliana clung to both, reading each letter over and over again until the paper was near worn through from being unfolded and folded. It had been well over a month since the last had been received, the longest time by far between communications from her Warden.

She had eyes and ears throughout Thedas, but separating fact from fiction was a cumbersome task when you were looking for a legend. Rumors had Talia alternately leading a mage rebellion or battling abominations in half a dozen cities; decimating the Crows in Antiva; allying with the Qunari against the Tevinters in Seheron; supporting the elvhen uprising in Halimsharal. The latter, at least, had been easy enough to discredit. Talia would know what the inevitable consequence of such a rebellion would be, and she would never have encouraged such a doomed endeavor.

But the rest? Without knowing the nature of Alistair's request, it was impossible to be sure, though the reports from Seheron had provided the most plausible details and also mentioned that Devon Hawke, Isabela and a dwarf named Varric Tethras accompanied the two Wardens. That had been enough to send Cassandra north; she still more than half blamed Hawke for the chaos at Kirkwall, and for making a martyr of Anders, rather than allowing the templars to bring him to justice, which might have fulfilled their need for vengeance.

Leliana was not so sure. Too many of the order these days seemed to view the mages as criminals, prisoners to be kept from escaping, only a moment's inattention away from becoming abominations. Those that did not fall into that category were too often of the ilk that took pleasure from exerting control over their charges. Both types had been more than eager of an excuse to tighten that control, all but welcoming the rebellions that such harshness was guaranteed to bring about. Far too few templars had both the skill to quell out-of-control magics and the belief that mages were fellow children of the Maker, in need of protection but also of respect. Both would be vital if order was to be restored.

Below, the musicians began a lively tune that signaled the beginning of the _tourdion_, a dance that involved much hopping and kicking. Rumors had Celene enjoying the dance, but Leliana found it difficult to picture the Empress hopping about; more likely, the rumors had been put into play by one of those who enjoyed seeing what lengths the social elite would go to to be fashionable. Most of the dancers comported themselves with an agile grace; they had undoubtedly spent long hours practicing for this public display, earning approving applause from the onlookers. Justinia clapped politely, a gentle smile curving her lips, and Leliana and the other attendants mirrored her.

This late in the evening, however, there were always some who had drunk too much wine, and others who simply lacked the coordination for such an endeavor. One such young woman lost her footing and stumbled, falling heavily to the floor, her skirt torn and her mask tumbling across the marble. As her mother scurried to collect her, plainly more concerned about the loss of face than any potential injury, the girl who had adroitly tripped her moved to collect her prize: the eligible young man with whom the fallen girl had been dancing. The Game in small scale, played for petty stakes.

If Justinia had noticed the tripping, she gave no sign, her features composed into a pleasantly attentive mien. Unlike Beatrix, whose withered frame had seemed overwhelmed by the robes and headdress of her office and who had frequently fallen asleep on the Sunburst Throne, the current Divine wore her regalia with grace, dignity and an undeniable air of authority. Blue eyes shifted briefly to Leliana, the faintest nod all the instruction that the Left Hand of the Divine required from the Most Holy.

A single templar had been requested as an honor guard, bearing the only weapon permitted in the ballroom. Any number would have volunteered for the honor (though perhaps not so many as would have before the Kirkwall rebellion), but after some discussion, the request that had been submitted to Knight-Commander Eron contained a single name.

Knight-Captain Evangeline de Brassard stood at attention at the foot of the dais. Her armor was polished to a high sheen, her crimson tunic immaculate, and her dark hair arranged in an elegant braid that was achingly familiar. As Leliana descended the steps toward the templar, she caught sight of Josephine Montilyet. The Antivan ambassador looked stunning in a gown in shimmering hues of bronze and crimson, her gilded mask adorned with feathers in matching colors that contrasted exquisitely with her dark hair. As their eyes met, the Antivan gave her a sunny smile that immediately sparked suspicion.

_What are you up to, Josie?_ Leliana feared no real malfeasance from her friend, but she clearly knew _something_ that she believed the Left Hand would find interesting. The smile had been intended to advertise that fact, pique Leliana's curiosity. Some juicy bit of gossip, no doubt. She'd have to find her after the conclusion of the ball and find out what it was; it was a rare luxury to hear about matters no more serious than a nobleman making an ass of himself in pursuit of a lover, and Josephine knew it, storing such tidbits away and presenting them like bright baubles nestled among more mundane subjects. She had been a particular blessing these last few weeks, as days stretched on with no word from Talia.

Allowing herself a brief moment of anticipatory speculation, Leliana returned the smile with one that Josie would know: _We will speak later, yes?_ and approached Ser Evangeline, who was unaware of her presence, her attention focused upon the other guests, the picture of vigilance, but a subtle tension visible in the set of her shoulders.

"You cannot wait to get away, I see."

The templar turned in surprise. "Her Eminence need not fear I'll abandon her," she answered stiffly, plainly thinking that she was being reprimanded. She was a pretty girl, with fair skin and green eyes; Leliana had seen the speculative and pitying glances the women at the ball had given her and known well what they would be saying among themselves:

_Such a pretty thing. I wonder what's wrong with her, that she had to take up the sword?_ It would never occur to such petty, self-absorbed creatures that anyone might consider such a calling as worthy of pursuit.

She made a conciliatory gesture, hoping to put the girl at ease. "Oh, I did not mean to imply that you might. You do a better job of guarding your feelings than most templars I've encountered." Someone had apparently told them that looking grim and forbidding was a necessary part of their job, but the right question turned those harsh visages into open books. "Even so, this must be a very boring assignment for you."

Evangeline hesitated, visibly considering her response. "I think my Knight-Commander believed I might be more … comfortable in this setting," she offered at last, "considering the family I was born to."

"But you're not." The de Brassard family had been minor nobility in Val Royeaux, her father a chevalier from whom she had learned her martial skills. Evangeline had volunteered for the Templar Order, and had remained after her parents had died, leaving the family fortune to a spendthrift uncle who had lost it all in near record time.

The younger woman gave a slight shrug. "I left that life behind a long time ago." Her gaze turned back to the revelers, who had exchanged dancing for conversation, little groups forming, dissolving, reforming as their members fought with words and smiles, seeking an advantage on the only battleground that most of them would ever set foot upon. Evangeline's expression as she watched them was one of puzzlement touched at the edges with disdain. "All that wealth and influence, and what do they use it for?" she asked softly. "Their own advancement, while their world crumbles around them."

Justinia's instincts had been right, as they usually were. "I would agree with that," Leliana told her. "I know Her Eminence would, as well." True, though a test, as well, but the templar did not puff up or look otherwise gratified at being told that the Divine shared her views.

"That makes at least three of us, then," she replied, her practical demeanor so very like Talia that the bard had to fight a sudden wave of melancholy.

She covered it with a laugh, offering the templar her hand. "Pardon my atrocious manners. My name is Leliana."

If the younger woman recognized the name, she gave no sign. Cassandra was known to all as the Right Hand of the Divine, but Justinia's Left Hand remained cloaked in shadow. Even those who knew of her station rarely knew the whole of it; few who met her as Sister Nightingale survived the meeting.

"Knight-Captain Evangeline," the young woman returned politely, her handshake firm without crushing.

Leliana nodded. "Oh, yes, I know. There was a great deal of discussion as to who would be guarding the Divine tonight." Another stroke to her ego, if such things moved her, but her expression was more curious than proud. So far, so good. "Many of those in your order of similar rank, after all, have expressed certain … attitudes which cause us concern." Having tossed out that baited hook, Leliana turned and moved to a small table near the foot of the dais where carafes of chilled wine and glasses had been set out. The table was too close to the Divine for the comfort of most of the guests, with a comfortable buffer insulating them from the nearest ears. As she poured a glass of wine, Evangeline followed her.

"What do you mean?" she wanted to know. "What sort of concern?"

"You are aware of what happened in Kirkwall?"

"Isn't everyone?" True enough, but while knowledge of the event was widely spread, awareness of the causes was not nearly so well known. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that few wished to acknowledge what was known.

Leliana nodded toward the White Spire, visible through the windows of the ballroom, as pale as the moon against the night sky. "The Circle of Magi in Kirkwall rebelled and plunged the city into war, and we've been feeling the effects across Thedas ever since. The templars now have two ways they can view it: either as a challenge to their authority … or as a lesson to be learned."

"And what does that have to do with me?" Evangeline wanted to know. "I don't believe I've expressed an opinion one way or the other." Her impatience with games, her plain spoken manner was so very much like Talia, as was her build: tall and strong, but with an innate grace. Briefly, the temptation arose to draw her away after the ball, seduce her, pretend … She'd had naught but memories and dreams to sustain her for far too long, but the temptation was one easily resisted and dismissed. Justinia would undoubtedly not approve, and beyond that, it would be unfair to Talia, to herself and most of all to this honest and honorable young woman that the Divine believed to be the future of the Templar Order.

"Haven't you?" Leliana kept her voice and expression light as she took a sip of wine. Anyone watching would think them to be chatting about subjects far more frivolous than mage rebellions. "You say the nobility do nothing useful with their influence. Am I not to read from this that you feel the templars are different?" Evangeline had not walked away from her family's fortune because she liked hitting things with swords.

"Of course I do," she replied, growing more visibly impatient with the oblique line of discussion. "We protect the world from the mages and the mages from themselves – not because they ask us to, or because the task is an easy one, but because it is the right thing to do." The words were not simply a rote recital; they were passionately spoken, deeply felt.

"That sounds like an opinion to me," Leliana challenged her.

"It is one I happen to share with the rest of my order." The contrast between this statement and the previous one was like comparing chalk to cheese. Evangeline could not even hold her eyes when she made the assertion. She knew it was not true, wished that it was.

"If only that were so." If it were, the current situation would not exist, the rebellion in Kirkwall would never have taken place. Could it be made to be so? Perhaps, but not without templars like Knight-Captain Evangeline de Brassard to show what was possible. "There are many who believe that a war is inevitable, and that the Chantry has not done enough to support efforts the templars have made to prevent it." That such 'efforts' consisted almost exclusively of ever harsher oppression of the mages never seemed to make it into those discussions. "They say we must begin picking sides."

"And you're saying I was chosen to guard the Divine tonight because you believe I've picked a side?" Evangeline was not angry, not insulted, but definitely wary. She would not betray her order, but she did not yet realize that her order would betray her, if her choices did not meet with the approval of her superiors. Sides were already being chosen, and Justinia intended to make her own position clear tonight.

"I cannot say. That might be worth a discussion." Leliana took another drink of her wine. How Evangeline responded to the statement that the Divine would deliver in a few minutes would be the final test, after which discussions might begin in earnest. Movement across the ballroom caught her eye, and her free hand fell languidly to her side as she watched the young man in templar armor edging his way through the forest of guests, his step quickening when he saw Evangeline. Most of the revelers took no notice of the newcomer, except to scowl when he inadvertently brushed against them as he passed, but Josephine – bless her – was sauntering casually toward the doors, ready to summon guards if needed. The ambassador had little talent for combat, but her wits could be a formidable weapon.

"Ser Evangeline! Thank the Maker I found you!" he exclaimed as he drew near, though why she should have been difficult to locate was a mystery. Belatedly, he realized that the templar was not alone, and began to stammer an apology.

"There is no need to worry young ser," Leliana assured him with a light laugh, "though I hope you have good reason for bringing your sword. There is only supposed to be the one, after all." The only one visible, at any rate. The daggers beneath her robe could be brought into play swiftly if they were needed, and if not, no one but herself and Justinia need know they were there. Her reprimand was gently given; the lad was young, looked barely old enough to shave, and he blushed deeply when she nodded toward the sword at Evangeline's hip. He reminded her more than a bit of Ser Talbot in his sweet earnestness; Maker willing, he would not share that young man's fate.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, mortified. "I didn't think ..."

"You have a purpose here?" Evangeline asked pointedly.

"I, uh … I do!" He fumbled in his belt pouch and fished out a folded piece of parchment that he handed her. "I was sent by the Knight-Commander. There's been another murder at the White Spire."

"There has?" As Evangeline unfolded the missive and read it, Leliana glanced around cautiously, ensuring that no one was close enough to have heard the carelessly blurted statement. The murders were not common knowledge outside of the Spire; even within the circle, the exact number of the dead was a matter of rumor and speculation. If there had been another, it would be the sixth, and if it was anything like the previous five, no clues as to the identity of the murderer had been found. "Tell him I will come as soon as I am able," Evangeline said, folding the parchment and slipping it into a pocket, her expression troubled.

The lad nodded but stayed put, looking hesitantly at Leliana. "I'm sorry, madame, but I think I might have a message for you as well."

"Oh?" She regarded him curiously. "From the templars?" That seemed highly unlikely. Most of the order who knew who she was would find her involvement in the investigation no more welcome than that of the Seekers of Truth.

He shook his head. "No, there was a servant outside looking for you. A red-haired priest with the Divine, he said. I was told there is an old friend asking to see you."

"An old friend?" Despite the fact that she was already expecting one old friend, she could not suppress the spark of hope in her breast. "Did this servant say which one?"

"No, madame. He said this person came from Ferelden, if that helps."

"It does." She did not show her disappointment as she turned to Evangeline and dipped a curtsy. "It seems our conversation will have to continue another time, good ser. Maker watch over you until then."

"And you."

She followed the young templar out of the ballroom, sending Josephine a nod to indicate that assistance would not be required and receiving an even sunnier smile than before. She chuckled softly, shaking her head. Josie's gossip would have to wait; it had been far too long since she had seen this old friend, and Chantry business was involved, as well.

Outside the ballroom, she was directed to the suite that had been provided for Justinia's use and moved purposefully through the corridor, opened the door and slipped inside.

"Wynne!" The smile that touched her lips was genuine. The mage looked older than the last time they had met, but her answering smile was no less warm than it had always been. It was the spark of mischief gleaming in the blue eyes that warned Leliana, however; she turned as strong arms slipped around her from behind and found herself looking up into the face that had haunted her dreams for the last eleven months and seven days.

"Talia -" Any other words she might have uttered were captured by her Warden's lips, the kiss fierce and tender; she slid her arms around Talia's neck, holding on tight and losing herself in the kiss until the need for air made itself known.

"Maker, but I missed you," Talia breathed, drawing back only slightly, fingers tracing the curve of Leliana's cheek, dark eyes drinking in the Orlesian's face with a weary wonder. She looked older, Leliana realized with a pang of regret. She _was_ older, by nearly a year, but the lines of care that touched her features made it clear that the experiences of that year had aged her beyond that. Experiences that Leliana had not been present for. Talia's gaze cut toward Wynne, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I'm in your debt. I never would have dared try that if she'd been alone."

"It was my pleasure," Wynne replied, smiling fondly at them. If the mage had not been there, had not been so obviously unconcerned, Leliana would have indeed reacted very differently to arms encircling her from behind.

"I missed you, too," she whispered to Talia, reaching up to tuck an errant wisp of hair behind an ear, then curling her hand into a fist and smacking her lover lightly on her shoulder. "Where have you _been_? You could have at least told me -"

A finger held to her lips stopped her words. "I couldn't," Talia told her regretfully. "If the letter had been intercepted...it was too risky. Alistair is fine," she went on, anticipating Leliana's next question. "He sends his love. I've made him promise to come for a visit, once he makes sure that Vigil's Keep hasn't burned to the ground while he was gone. As to where I've been, the short version is Seheron – and no, I didn't see Cassandra. She likely arrived after we left … again." The smug amusement pushed the careworn look aside for the moment, and Leliana couldn't help a chuckle.

"She's already furious with you, you know."

Talia shrugged, unconcerned. She and the Seeker butted heads on a regular basis, both of them stubbornly determined to do things their own way. "She'll live. I'll answer whatever questions she has when she makes it back. Hawke, Bethany and the others are safely away, and I've no idea where … and you've a namesake, by the way."

"Bethany had her baby?" At Talia's nod, Leliana gave a delighted squeal, hugging her tight. "That is wonderful news! I'm so happy for her. Is Cullen still with them?"

"They got married not long after they left Kirkwall," Talia confirmed. "It suits him, and that baby's already got him wrapped around her finger."

"I'm glad that he has managed to recover from what he suffered at Uldred's hands," Wynne said, and Leliana realized guiltily that she had all but forgotten about the mage's presence, "though I wish he had not left the templars. The order will need men and women like him if the conflict with the mages is to be brought under control."

"He may be convinced to change his mind," Talia replied, drawing Leliana against her. The bard closed her eyes, nuzzling into the curve of her lover's neck with a happy sigh. She had foregone her armor for a formal-looking tunic and trews, and the warmth of her through her clothing was both blessing and temptation. Had Wynne not been here, Leliana would have already pinned her Warden to the wall and demonstrated just how much she had been missed. "As long as he is assured of the safety of his wife and child."

Leliana drew back, opening her eyes and looking up at Talia in surprise. "The Divine would never -" she began, then broke off, because Justinia would do whatever was necessary to restore order. The lives of individuals mattered little in the balance against the lives of hundreds, even thousands, that stood to be saved or lost; the Left Hand of the Divine knew this better than anyone.

Talia met her eyes, seeing that painful knowledge sink its claws deep, soothing the hurt with another gentle kiss. "He wouldn't be the man he is, the man that the Most Holy needs, without Bethany and little Leli, and the Divine knows that. It's the other templars that worry me." She shook her head grimly. "The order is completely fractured. I saw it wherever we went. Too damn many of them have turned into mage hunters, and are no longer looking for guidance from the Chantry or the moderates. They've been waiting for an excuse to strike out, and now they have it. What about you?" Talia looked to Wynne curiously. "As good as it is to see you, I'm doubting this is a social call."

"You didn't come here with Wynne?" Leliana asked in puzzlement.

Talia shook her head. "Just a happy accident. When she came in, I barely had enough time to enlist her before you got here."

Leliana studied her with narrowed eyes. "Did Josephine sneak you in here?" _That_ was why the little sneak had been looking so smug!

The Warden shook her head again. "She knew about it. I've been hiding out in the Antivan Embassy the last couple of days, but my chief co-conspirator is of much higher rank."

"Justinia?"

A nod now, Talia looking most pleased with herself. "She talked me into surprising you tonight. I was originally going to attend the ball. Had a mask picked out and everything." The look that she gave Leliana was a significant one; Talia loathed the custom of masks. Only for Leliana might she have worn one. "But she seemed to think that jackass Gaspard might try the same provocation that he attempted with Arl Teagan a few weeks back." Her lips curled in a wolfish smile. "I don't fight with feathers."

Definitely the more prudent course, although - "The Grand Duke is not in attendance tonight," Leliana remarked, frowning. She had made note of his absence earlier, but had not yet had the time to consider its significance, particularly in light of others who were not present...

"Shall we go?" Talia suggested, tipping her head toward the door invitingly. "We could find a decent tavern, get caught up?"

Oh so tempting, but - "I can't," Leliana replied, shaking her head, duty warring with desire. "I am one of the Most Holy's attendants tonight. She had asked me to meet with Wynne, but after, I must -"

Talia was chuckling before she'd finished speaking. "Wrong, my love. I've received very specific instructions from Her Eminence to spirit you out of the palace and keep you from your duties for no less than three days, after which I intend to -" She stopped, her head coming up, posture suddenly alert; almost immediately, Leliana heard it, too.

Screams. Shouting.

"Go!" Talia released her and was on her heels as she threw open the door and raced toward the ballroom, the screams growing louder and the smell of smoke and burning flesh rising in the air.

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes – My muse has taken a decidedly sadistic turn. Trying to weave together events from games, books, graphic novels and my own headcanon is damned tricky. The conversation between Leliana and Evangeline was quoted directly from 'Asunder', but seen here through the bard's eyes instead.<em>

_I did think about having Talia show up at the ball itself, but decided that would be a bit too showy. As Justinia's Left Hand, Leliana's public presence would need to be low key, and a public reunion with her lover would be like advertising a weakness in neon lights._

_I'm trying not to mess too much with the events from the books, and fortunately, Leliana was not front and center for most of them, leaving me with a good deal of latitude as to what she will be doing. At the ball in 'Asunder', she does leave to meet with an old friend from Ferelden, who is presumably Wynne, and enlisting Wynne into helping Talia surprise Leli was almost too easy. I snuck Josie in just because I could._

_The rating will likely be changed to 'M' in another chapter or two, as a scene that I was thinking of placing in 'Stolen Moments' will be left here for continuity. As I've been working my way through Inquisition, the changes in Leliana have been striking. Justinia's death obviously changed her, but it is a change that I think began well before, when she was the Left Hand of the Divine. In the game, the relationship with the Warden seems to have very little bearing on the direction that her character develops in; I'm sure you can guess what Talia's opinions on that are, and things are likely to get heated in more ways than one once they are finally alone._


End file.
